When We Were Young
by Greensleeves
Summary: When Boromir and Faramir were boys, they knew two little girls, who impacted greatly upon them.
1. PROLOGUE Training Sword

"Why won't you let me come along, too?" Asked six year-old Vivienne D'Arcy, hauling a large, wooden practise sword behind her as she trotted to keep up with 17 year-old Boromir.  
  
"You're too little." He said shortly.  
  
"I'm just as strong as you," She insisted, even though the point of the sword was dragging on the ground.  
  
"Besides," He added harshly, "You're a girl."  
  
"Yeah? Well, Éomer Eadig's sister Éowyn gets to learn sword-fighting, and she's a girl."  
  
"That's different. Now, stop following me!"  
  
He realised he'd gone too far when he turned around to find she had dropped the sword and was almost crying. Automatically, he felt bad, and knelt in front of her.  
  
"You're going to be a Lady of the Court, Vivvi," He told her, a note of apology in his voice. "You should be learning things like... like... like young ladies learn."  
  
"But not how t' defend myself," She added, petulantly, and he smiled softly. "Not how to kill. Now – go! Run down to the stables – Faramir said Nova will be there today, looking at the horses."  
  
She smiled brightly, tears instantly forgotten in the way only a child can forget them, and she kissed his cheek before running back down the hall, sword lying forgotten on the floor. 


	2. CHAPTER ONE Ella

In the Royal Stables, Vivienne found Nova sitting atop a bale of hay, chattering away merrily to her father, who was a blacksmith but often looked after the horses, and was inspecting Faramir's mount, Ellainora. The young prince Faramir, now twelve years old, felt responsible for his horse, and was standing, anxious-faced, beside Nova. Her balance wasn't great, so she occasionally tipped dangerously sideways, and he kept pulling her upright.  
  
"Hallo, Pappa Blacksmith," Vivienne chirped in a singsong voice, trotting over to her friend, "Hallo Nova-lina! Hallo Faramir, would you help me up, please?"  
  
Absently, Faramir lifted her onto the hay bale.  
  
Wiping his head with a large, old handkerchief, the blacksmith gently patted the mare's nose reassuringly.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir," Said the big man regretfully, "But it would be an undeserved punishment to let Ella live. Her leg mun be ailing her summatt awful."  
  
Faramir nodded, swallowing painfully.  
  
"I – I understand."  
  
"We'd best ter get it done as soon as possible, m'lord. Would you take the girls outside, lad."  
  
"I'd like to be with her," He said softly, sniffing slightly, trying to be manly and not cry, especially in the presence of girls.  
  
"O' course. Nova, Vivienne, please would y' go outside."  
  
It wasn't a question, but an order said politely.  
  
Disappointed, the little girls skipped outside, then stopped around the corner. They could tell something was going to happen, even though they didn't know what, and they did not like missing out.  
  
Quickly, so as not to miss anything, they ran down the side of the big wooden building, and each found a peep-hole.  
  
"I cannae see naught!" Nova complained.  
  
"Shh!" Vivienne hissed in reply.  
  
If they got caught the whole game would be over. That was how they saw it – a game, spying on the older people who pushed them away.  
  
Vivienne frowned in confusion when she saw Nova's father draw a sword. What did he need a sword for, in a stable? She didn't understand, either, the tears rolling silently down Faramir's face.  
  
When the sword was drawn swiftly across Ella's throat, Vivienne almost cried out in shock. They were killing her! And Faramir – didn't he care? He just stood there! Didn't he love his horse? Didn't he care?  
  
The blood that gushed splattered onto the floor, onto the blacksmith's hands, onto Faramir's tunic. Red was all she could see, could only hear an echo of the horse's scream ringing in her mind.  
  
Mortified, horrified, shocked. Vivienne felt sick to her stomach, and she was hardly aware of the hot tears that sprang into her eyes, or the way she ran away, sobbing noisily.  
  
"Vivienne? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Nova cried out, chasing after her, but the younger girl didn't turn around or answer, she didn't even hear. 


	3. CHAPTER TWO Swimming

How old is Faramir when Findulias died? I couldn't find it, and I didn't really have much resources to go from, since I was in a hurry and am still too lazy to check up and change my story, but in the following chapter I'm assuming that he is up to a year or so old.  
  
*** *** *** ***  
  
"Brother, your pronunciation is all wrong!" Faramir said, exasperated, "You can't talk about an elven princess as though she were a kitchen maid!"  
  
"I did not! I was talking about the princess like a princess!"  
  
"You did not sound like you were."  
  
They were supposed to be practising Sindarin, which their father had commanded they become familiar with after their mother, who had been of elven descent, had died.  
  
Their tutor had left them practising nouns, and immediately they had begun to fight.  
  
"I cannot concentrate!" Boromir sighed wistfully, "When outside the weather is so fair!"  
  
"Now, see, if you were to speak of an elven princess as you do a summer's day - "  
  
"Enough, Faramir! Why cannot my efforts be acceptable to thee?!"  
  
He stood abruptly, and crossed to the window, looking out over the garden outside the library.  
  
It had belonged to their mother, and he could still see her, walking softly along the mossy paths, teaching him the names of all the flowers, or laughing and asking him to save Faramir from one of the kitchen's rat- catcher cats.  
  
It took a minute to realise what he actually could see – a messy red-haired head bobbing ever closer up the wall.  
  
"Vivvi - " He said, worried suddenly as the little girl climbed nimbly up the stout ivy which spread along the old buildings' walls.  
  
"What did you say?" Faramir asked distractedly, searchign for a page in a book.  
  
"Vivienne's climbing up the ivy - "  
  
Even as Faramir glanced in his direction, Vivienne's cheerful face appeared in the window.  
  
"What're you doing?!" Borormir exclaimed, his voice a mixture of panicked anxiety and indignant anger. Holding on one-handeed, she pushed on the window.  
  
It hadn't been opened in a while, and was stuck in its frame, so when it gave it sprang open violently, barely missing Boromir's nose.  
  
"Hallo!" She exclaimed cheerfully, resting her elbows on the sille.  
  
"You could have killed yourse;f!"  
  
"I wanted to ask you to come swimming with us."  
  
"We're learning," Faramir told her, coming to stand slightly behind his older brother.  
  
Vivienned gave him a look that plainly said she knew better.  
  
"Come swimming," She pleaded, "It's so boring, and it's such a fair day..."  
  
"It isn't like we're actuall learning anything," Boromir acknowledged, "Only we're suppose to be. And if father finds out..."  
  
With the most withering look she could muster, Vivienne left the window, swinging herself onto the low over-hang which was just wide enough for her to walk on. She ran off on this, much to the boy's concern, who scrambled to stick their heads out the window just in time to see Vivienne, with a wild shout, launch herself from the end.  
  
"The river's too far! She cannot make it!" Faramir cried, and they ran from the room – right past their rather bewildered tutor.  
  
"Vivvi!" Boromir shouted, as they turned the corner to where she should have landed, "Vivienne!"  
  
There was no body.  
  
Tentatively, they walked over to the river's edge, and there she was – happy as a pig in mud.  
  
"Did you see that?" She asked excitedly, momentarily going under, 'Did you see me?! Wasn't it grand!?"  
  
Boromir was almost crying from relief.  
  
"Never do that again," He told her sternly, and Faramir, for once, agreed.  
  
"Do you know how worried we were?" He asked, "Do - "  
  
Boromir interrupted frantically.  
  
"Where's Nova?!"  
  
"Just over the- " Vivienne turned around. Where she pointed was only the breaking of a trail of air bubbles reaching the surface.  
  
"Elendil help me!" Boromir nearly sobbed, before diving into the river and swimming strongly to the place. Faramir waded in also, and carried a stricken Vivienne back to shore, where she simply stood, and shook, and sobbed.  
  
A minute passed. Nova did not surface, nor did Boromir.  
  
"Help her!" Vivienne screamed suddenly, "Why won't you help her? You're just standing there! You never help, you always just stand there! You're just standing there..." She was overcome by angry tears, and she started kicking Faramir, flailing with hier small hands. Still with his gaze fixed on the river, he just knelt and wrapped his arms tightly around her, so she couldn't move.  
  
Then Boromir's head appeared, suddenly, and he hauled Nova's limp body onto the shore.  
  
She was even paler than usual, even her freckles had faded. Her eyes were rimmed red, and her lips and fingers and toes were all blue with cold.  
  
"She isn't breathing!" Boromir cried, sobbing for breath, "She's not breathing... she's dead..."  
  
Yet he still leant over her, compelled by some hopeless yearning to see the life return to her face.  
  
He pinched her nose, blew air into her mouth, listened for some response.  
  
There was none.  
  
"Boromir," Faramir said, one word, but so much was said in that one. Boromir did not give up.  
  
"You must let her rest," Faramir whispered, "She is beyond saving."  
  
"No! She cannot die!" Boromir cried. Still he forced air into her dead lungs – never thinking to find a pulse. All he could think of was that, being under the water so long, she hadn't had any air all that time. So, air she needed, air he could give.  
  
Then – her eyes flew open, she drew in a gasping breath, and she began to cry.  
  
"Dearest Nova!" Boromir said, hugging her tightly, as though he never wanted to let go.  
  
She coughed water all over his tunic – he didn't care.  
  
All that mattered was that tiny girl he held in his arms, that tiny life.  
  
Alive!  
  
He didn't even care that he was crying harder than anyone else, even in front of his brother. 


	4. CHAPTER THREE A Royal Visitor

Nova was alive, and Boromir a hero – although she had to stay in bed for at least a week.  
  
A few days after the incident, Denethor held a counsel, to which King Theoden of Rohan came, accompanied by his son Theoden and nephew Eomer.  
  
From her somewhat precarious perch atop a roof neighbouring the stables, Vivienne watched Eomer and Theodred ride into the courtyard, the latter leading Theoden's horse by its reigns.  
  
She watched the boys as Boromir warmly greeted them, and she tried to move close enough to hear them talk as they went into the stables.  
  
Carefully she shifted her weight onto her hands, raising herself from the tiles and slithering sideways.  
  
A few metres further, and she could hear their filtered voices.  
  
Theodred was retelling the story of Nova's rescue – somewhat embellished in the way of stories.  
  
Much to Vivienne's disgust, neither her daring climb nor brilliant leap was mentioned – he had supposedly been drawn outside by a little girl's screams.  
  
Boromir crossed to the window, bored by the boasting of the two older boys.  
  
He was happy to be back in Minas Tirith once more – of course! Also, it was, as always, wonderful to see Boromir again.  
  
But something about Boromir had changed since his last visit – the youth had gone out of him. All his fond memories of the great city were of the glorious adventures they'd had, and here was the ringleader obviously having outgrown them.  
  
These thoughts seemed too deep, though, and he dismissed them.  
  
A twitch of sudden movement caught his eye – he was sure he could see something on the roof opposite.  
  
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream rent the air, and Boromir and Theodred started in surprise.  
  
"What was that?" Theodred asked, slightly shocked.  
  
Eomer couldn't move, only watch as the scene seemed to unfold in slow motion before his eyes.  
  
Again there was movement on the roof – he saw now that it was a young, red- haired girl, and a second's thought told him her name – Vivienne, daughter of Lord D'Arcy. Something had startled, or scared, her badly, and she scrambled away, lost her footing on the steep tiles, slid down to the edge of the roof.  
  
He found that he couldn't breathe as she hung, poised out of time for a moment, teetering between safety and danger.  
  
But then she tipped backwards, and fell through the air.  
  
She landed with a sickening thud and the crunch of splintering bones, and the noise jolted Eomer back into life – he raced outside faster than he'd ever run in his life.  
  
He fell to his knees beside her broken form, almost too scared to see if she was alive.  
  
To his surprise she was – and conscious. Her bright green eyes were clouded with pain, as she stared beseechingly at him, and though she tried to move her body – neither her arms nor her legs would obey, save for a feeble twitching of her fingers.  
  
"It's going to be okay, Viv," He muttered, then shouted over his shoulder, "Boromir! Get... get help! Boromir – Vivienne's fallen from the roof!"  
  
When Boromir heard this, his heart stopped.  
  
It was Theodred who ran, crying out for somebody to come, while Boromir fell to his knees in despair.  
  
Why me? He pleaded, Why again? Why now? Why her?  
  
Nobody answered his questions. 


	5. CHAPTER FOUR Recovering

Nova recovered fully, and only then was she informed of Vivienne's fall.  
  
She ran straight away into the room where her friend was resting in a big, white bed.  
  
"Vivienne!" She cried out, and the only response was a weak smile.  
  
They hadn't seen each other for over a week and missed each others company, but still, Nova was a healthy little girl, and she couldn't sit still inside for long.  
  
When Eomer came in with a tray she took it as an excuse to leave, after promising to visit.  
  
"How are you feeling?" He asked, sitting on the chair beside the bed, and setting the tray non a little table.  
  
"Horribly bored," She replied with a sigh, and he smiled sympathetically, gently pushing an extra pillow behind her back to lift her upright.  
  
"How is your arm?"  
  
"You mean, can I feed myself."  
  
He laughed, and helped her to raise a mug of water to her lips.  
  
"It's heavy..." She muttered, and he frowned in concern – it did not weight very much at all.  
  
For the remainder of his visit, Eomer spent a lot of time at her side, much to Boromir's disgust.  
  
"You are turning into a boring old man," He would laugh, whenever her found Eomer anywhere near to the Houses of Healing. 


	6. CHAPTER FIVE Swords

"Can I practise on ye?" Nova pleaded, trailing bandages as she walked into the training yard, where Boromir was sparring with Yaco, the Swordmaster. Faramir was polishing his sword, and looked up at Nova's approach.  
  
Since Vivienne had been confined to bed, Nova had adopted many of her more amusing qualities, including her tendency towards slightly annoying activities.  
  
Coming up to the boys for company at inopportune moments was one.'  
  
"We're busy at the moment," Faramir tried to explain, but Nova simply tilted her head to the side.  
  
"Ye dinnae haf tae do naught but sit still," She admonished, "Please?"  
  
"If you are sure that it will not interrupt..." He said finally, "Do not attract Yaco's attention, though, or there may be trouble.  
  
Nova let out a whoop of delight, then hurriedly covered her mouth with her hands. Yaco didn't even look towards her, but Faramir noticed a twinkle in the woman's eye.  
  
Yaco Hawke was twenty years old, and one of the finest swordsmen in all of Gondor.  
  
She had been appointed Swordmaster of Minas Tirith at the age of only sixteen, when the previous master, Eldon, had did while visiting his home at the foot of Calembel.  
  
Even though she was so young, Yaco had been Eldon's apprenticed, and so had been hastily promoted. The military education of the young princes could not afford the delay that would have ensued if another Master had had to be trained.  
  
Although reluctant to induct a woman into such a position, Denethor had known that there was no choice in the matter.  
  
Faramir could remember the day he and his brother had arrived at their lessons to find only their master's apprentice, standing in the master's place. His own quiet surprise and curiosity – this was the first time he'd seen a woman weild a sword, and he was impressed.  
  
Boromir had been downright outraged, and had shown it. Thirteen years old, he was a difficult young man, with strong opinions and stronger prejudices.  
  
Now, looking at his older brother, Faramir could see that he had matured a lot in the past four years, and now he genuinely respected the woman who was only three years older than he was.  
  
Faramir returned to reality with a jolt, when his sword slipped from his finger's numb grasp and cut a deep gash into his palm.  
  
Looking down, he found bandages tightly wrapped around his left leg, and creeping up his thigh.  
  
Nova, however, had spotted the new wound and crowed with delight.  
  
A real injury for her to 'fix'!  
  
Boromir was now grinning, sneaking glances at his brother at every opportunity.  
  
"Faramir."  
  
At the sound of his father's voice, Faramir leapt to his feet, terror rising, stumbling when he found that Nova, in her excitement, had bound his hand to his thigh.  
  
Boromir stepped over quickly and cut him free, laughing animatedly.  
  
Nova, blushing, took one alarmed look at Denethor before dashing from the yard.  
  
Faramir straightened carefully, holding his injured hand close, aware that the bandage unravelling from his leg looked ridiculous.  
  
Denethor beckoned for him to follow, and walked swiftly away.  
  
Drawing in a deep, slightly gulping breath, Faramir followed his father, his trepidation hanging over him like a cloud. 


	7. CHAPTER SIX Angel Caught on Fire

Faramir slowly struggled to his feet, knees buckling even as he did so, stomach churning. Denethor, full of rage, did not see his son's noble courage as he stood straight before him, only saw the target of his sorrow and anger, and lashed out again, and again, and again.  
  
Bleeding now from things other than accident, and with bruises already forming on his battered body, Faramir held his tongue and received the onslaught as though he had deserved it.  
  
He had done no wrong.  
  
Denethor did not see this.  
  
He did not see the small body fall to the ground each time before standing again.  
  
He did not see his son, or the goodness of Finduilas embodied in him.  
  
He did not see the sweet, caring child Faramir was.  
  
Just a murderer, a thief, a liar.  
  
When the shouting had ended, Faramir collected himself, and staggered from the room, walking with what dignity he had the strength to muster.  
  
He retreated to his room, where he bathed his wounds in a bowl of water and, ultimately, fell asleep to the sound of his own broken-hearted sobs. 


End file.
